


Do Not Fear the Cold it will Only Freeze Your Heart

by victoriousscarf



Series: Beware of Heroes [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (Wow there's a AU Dune tag excellent), Alternate Universe - Dune Setting, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Dune Fusion, Gen, Helcaraxë
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 17:25:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helcaraxë: A planet of ice with only the stars and one faint moon, barely reflecting the light of a sun so far away it looks like another star.</p><p>The ice planet in three acts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this all in a two day period when I was sick so eh?

If there had been any doors between the shuttle bay and the bridge where Fëanor waited, Fingolfin would have slammed each and every one of them. As it was, the heavy trend of his footsteps and the rage in his eyes conveyed his feelings quiet well, the last blast doors swishing open as they approached.

“What the hell was that?” Fingolfin demanded, Fingon almost tripping on his father’s heels when he stopped abruptly.

“That was war, dear brother,” Fëanor remarked, only briefly glancing up from the charts in front of him.

“That was war?” Fingolfin repeated, aghast.   

“They were refusing us ships,” Fëanor said, as if that justified anything. “If our people do not stand with us, then they are the enemy!”

“How dare you?” Fingolfin hissed. “We humans are few enough, and you think we can afford to kill ourselves now? They were humans, like us! They could have helped us!”

“They were ship builders,” Fëanor scoffed. “They had said themselves they had no intention of ever passing up their ships.”

“So you thought you would simply kill them, humans like us, and take by force what they had wrought with their own hands?” his half brother asked, exhaustion and rage warring in his voice.

“And your son was happy enough to join us,” Fëanor said with a cold smile, Fingon’s head snapping over from where he had been staring at Maedhros, the eldest son of Fëanor not meeting his eyes. “Were you not, Fingon? You, at the forefront of your father’s people, were quite happy to join us in battle without stopping to ask why.”

Fingolfin stared at his son, who shook his head, Maedhros still not looking directly at him. “I came and saw a battle already joined. I had no idea—no concept—that you might have been the one to start it. My only thought was,” and he stopped, looking down before his jaw tensed and he snapped his eyes back up, meeting Fëanor’s dead on. “I may have been rash but at least my sin was faith in my fellows.”

Fëanor sneered at him. “If that is what you must think. Your naiveté even now is simply adorable, Fingon.”

“I am not—” Fingon started, bristling, as the door swished open again, Finrod storming into the room.

“What the hell was that?” he thundered, Fingolfin and Fëanor both turned to look at him in surprise and for a moment Fingolfin looked like he had expected to see Finarfin standing there, instead of his eldest son.

Fëanor snapped out of his surprise first. “Run back to your ship,” he said, waving a hand. “You are not your father.”

“No, but someone must speak for his people,” Finrod snapped, arms crossed over his chest and blond hair wild around his face, scabbed over cuts on his cheek. “And as he is not here to do it himself, then his children will.”

“You are still a child,” Fëanor said, Galadriel coming to a stop at her brother’s shoulder.

“I think we can all leave that moniker behind us now,” Finrod said, Fingon having gone back to looking at Maedhros.

As Finrod and Fëanor’s voices started to rise, Celegorm joining in the fray and Maedhros seemed to slink further back into the console he leaned against.

“If they are not with us, they are against us!” Fëanor thundered, the sound echoing off the metal around them. “They might as well be supporting the machines!”

“They are humans, like us!” Finrod yelled right back, his voice higher and clearer then Fëanor’s but no less loud.  

“I understand they were your mother’s people,” Fëanor started and Finrod and Galadriel had equal looks of fury.

“That is irrelevant,” Galadriel said.

“Is it?” Celegorm asked.

Finrod’s eyes flashed in the blinking lights from the controls. “Our relatives or not,” and his voice finally broke on the words. “They are still human. They were _all_ our people. There are not enough of us that we can… senselessly slaughter ourselves.”

“We did not have the time for negotiations,” Fëanor said. “Do you want to have ships to fight this war or not?”

“And when our numbers are too few you will regret that declaration,” Finrod said, Fingolfin reaching a hand out on his shoulder.

“Come,” he said quietly, his own rage having stilled in the face of Finrod and Galadriel’s arrival. “Perhaps we should all rest for tonight. Tomorrow,” and he stared at his half-brother, Fëanor looking nonplussed back at him.  “Perhaps we will be able to talk more civilly, and decide what to do next.”

“Certainly,” Fëanor said, inclining his head and Finrod narrowed his eyes at him before he also nodded, the motion tight as Fingolfin pulled on his shoulder to lead him out of the control center and back down to the bay where they had entered the ship. For a moment Fingon hesitated still before he turned to follow Turgon and Argon after their father, sister and cousins.

Finally Maedhros seemed to snap out of his disinterest, moving the instant the door closed behind him. “Fingon, wait,” he called and like clockwork, Fingon paused and turned, the gold braided into his thick hair reflecting the false lights of the ship and looking cold.

“What?” Fingon asked.

“I didn’t mean,” Maedhros started and stopped because he was not sure what he did not mean with Fingon staring at him with anger and betrayal. “I did not lead you into that battle.”

“Did you at least tell your father no?” Fingon asked and between them lay unsaid that Fingon had been following Maedhros, not Fëanor. “Did you at least try and defend those people?”

 “We need their ships,” Maedhros replied and Fingon snarled at him, shaking his head.

“And we earned it with their blood,” Fingon said, taking a step back and away from Maedhros. “How despicable. What a noble start to our war.”

“Fingon,” Maedhros started.

“I don’t actually want to talk to you right now,” Fingon said, despite having been trying to catch his attention since arriving on the ship. “I will see you in the morning, with the others.”

“Good night,” Maedhros said, watching his braids disappear around the corner, a flash of gold all he saw.

-0-

It was nearing the middle of the night when he walked back up on the bridge to see his father and his brothers deep in conversation, Maglor looking uncomfortable but quiet.

“Maedhros,” Fëanor greeted, looking out of the viewport, which showed an image of the other ships around them. “Did you know that Fingolfin and Fingon have been on Finrod’s ship all night?”

“I did not,” Maedhros said.

“It is quite suspicious, do you not think?” Fëanor asked and Maedhros’ eyes widened, giving Maglor and alarmed looked, but Maglor only looked away.   

“How suspicious,” Maedhros asked, voice flat in his panic.

Fëanor turned to look at him. “They are probably conspiring against me.”

“Is that not a little hasty?” Maedhros asked. “They have followed you this far, and we finally have ships, and enough to actually start… to start something against the machines surely you do not think they would throw that away?”

“And do you honestly think after this they are willing to follow me?” Fëanor asked, the rest of Maedhros’ brothers silent.

“They are probably just talking,” he said. “We will know more in the morning, when we all come and discuss our next move. Anything now would be pre-emptive.”

“And if they arrive tomorrow and demand that I step down?” Fëanor asked, watching his son. “Would you continue to support them then?”

“I do not support them now!” Maedhros snapped, watching as Celegorm idly seemed to move around the room, Curufin’s eyes too bright. He swallowed back his next words. “What do you intend to do?”

“They are all on one ship,” Fëanor said, turning away again and Maedhros’ stomach dropped.

“You cannot,” he started and looked around. “You are serious.”

“One ship, and no one would question my authority again,” Fëanor said. “Or our purpose.”

“But they are our family,” Maedhros said quietly, sick pain spreading from his breastbone at the thought of Fingon’s cold face earlier that day, and the way he had stood, bloody and betrayed at Alqualondë the night before. At Finrod’s laugh and Galadriel’s deep eyes that saw too much. “You are talking about killing our family.”

“Perhaps not killing,” Fëanor said mildly. “We are above a planet after all. Perhaps they would survive.”

Maedhros’ eyes flickered down to the planet the fleet was orbiting. Their ship and Fingolfin’s and Finrod’s were separate from the rest of the fleet, the leaders having come to meet apart from the others to air their grievances amongst each other.

“It would only be two ships,” Fëanor said. “A tragic accident. This is war, Maedhros.”

Maedhros opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He stepped back once and decided that was not enough, turning and walking off the bridge, the door swishing closed behind him.

He did not sleep but nor did he leave his quarters until he felt the ship underneath them lurch and move, the navigator at the center of the ship, the machine that they relied on to guide them through space having computed a jump. He only vaguely listened to Fëanor’s speech to the rest of the fleet, piped over all the intercoms about the tragic incident that had taken down two faulty ships, and how dangerous it would be to go down to the ice below and try and salvage any of them, or save their crew.

“This is war,” he said and Maedhros stared blindly at the wall in front of him, grey and cold. “Sacrifices must be made.”


	2. Chapter 2

Fingon hauled the metal with him across the space between the two downed ships, a scrap of fabric covering his mouth the only protection he had against the stinging cold of the wind. Luckily the two ships had crashed almost side by side, all those months ago, and they survivors had made shelter inside them.

Entering the second ship, he pulled the covering down off his face, through the ship was dark and quiet and he kicked the side panel, a faint light flickering to life. “Finrod?” he called, down the hallway. “Finrod, you should be sleeping, you know.”

“Look who’s talking,” Finrod said, poking his head out. “Did you bring…? Ah. Excellent.”

Fingon sighed, dragging the heavy metal with him further down the hallway to where his cousin stood. The light was brighter where he worked, but still dimmed to save power in the dark world. “I am uncertain why you think this idea is going to work when your first dozen did not,” Fingon remarked, and in the brighter light his shorn hair was more obvious.

Finrod’s blond hair had also been cut close to his hairline, but his was neater, clearly the work of another hand and not Fingon’s hurt and rage filled cut, where he had gathered all his long braids in one hand and slicked through them all at once. He thought his golden ribbons were deep in the center of the ship, holding together metal where the navigator had once been.

“Even if we get this ship airborne,” he said, leaning against the wall, passing Finrod tools when he held out a hand. “We’ll never be able to get anywhere with it. Without the thinking computer, we’ll have no chance to make a safe jump.”

“Ah,” Finrod said, and looked up. “Actually… I was thinking about that.” Fingon arched an exhausted eyebrow. “See, the navigators are thinking computers, correct?”

“Yes?” Fingon offered, too exhausted to say how obvious that question was.

“So we just have to figure out a way to plot a jump ourselves,” Finrod said and Fingon bolted up from where he had been leaning against the wall.

“Are you out of your mind?” he hissed. “Do you have any idea—a jump like that would be like to throw us into the middle of a star, or, or, into uncharted space.”

“Not if it’s planned right,” Finrod said and pulled out a star chart and Fingon stared at him. “I’ve been thinking about it. I mean, machines were build by human hands and human minds. Why should we not be capable of thinking as much as they?”

“Human brains cannot compute the same data that machine minds can—” Fingon started and Finrod stared at him.

“Maedhros isn’t coming to save you,” he said and Fingon froze, jaw clicking shut. “We have to save ourselves because no one else is.”

“I know that,” Fingon ground out. “Why would you…?”

“Because you seem to be constantly holding out hope, that someone is going to come and save us! And you hope it would be him!” Finrod snapped. “He is not coming for us, no one else is. We can only save ourselves and we are dying.”

“You do not need to tell me of what I am already aware,” Fingon said quietly and Finrod leaned back.

“You know, I had thought him in love with you,” he said, watching Fingon closely.

“Shut up,” Fingon said, voice flat.

“You know you two were always together,” Finrod said. “Even as children, when none of us hung around the children of Fëanor. Everyone disapproved of it, but there you were, sitting together, a house slave teaching the child of miners how to read. It was so clear from the way he looked at you. But he is not coming to save you.”

“Shut up,” Fingon repeated, and then more desperately, “Why are you saying this?”

“Because you still seem to believe someone is coming for us.”

“No I don’t,” Fingon ground out, jaw set. “That does not make your idea any less insane.”

“Do you have a better one?” Finrod returned.

Fingon looked away, before turning and striding down the hallway, back toward the hatch he had entered through. For the most part the survivors lived on the other ship, while they worked on this one to try and patch it together enough for flight.

“Fingon, wait,” Finrod said, rising sloppily and hurrying after him.

Fingon turned, the dim lights flickering around their faces. “I know we don’t have another choice,” he said. “I know no one is coming to save us, we have been here for months. I know that Maedhros is the one that _left_ us here to begin with. But you’re talking about thinking like a machine, trying to harness their brains into a human mind. One little calculation being wrong and you would send us into a star or through a black hole and it would kill us as surely as staying here would.”

“I would rather die trying then waste away here,” Finrod said, voice hollow and quiet.

Fingon bit his lip, looking at the wall before turning his eyes back to Finrod. “If we die,” he said. “I will find a way to haunt you.”

“You still believe in our immortal souls?” Finrod asked, wryly as Fingon pulled his hood back up over his shorn hair and tugged the strip of fabric around the bottom of his face.

“I have to believe in something,” he said and the hatch opened behind him, Galadriel ducking inside. She did not bother pulling her hood down.

“Elenwë,” she said and Fingon was already moving past her. “She’s gone.”

-0-

A few hours later, Fingon lay with Aredhel pressed to his back, both of them half laying on Turgon, and Argon curled around his other side.

“She just left,” Turgon said, and it was pitch black around them, their father still out searching with some of the others by the light of the weak moon that was practically sunrise on this dim planet. “She can’t have gone far, she’s been too weak for so long…”

“She knew she was dying,” Aredhel said and Fingon buried his nose against his brother’s chest. He was the oldest and he felt useless.

“I can’t even bury her,” Turgon said, and his voice broke in the darkness. Fingon fumbled a hand out, Argon catching it and that way he could feel all four of his sibling’s heartbeats, Argon’s pulse strong under his finger tips.

“We’re all going to die here,” Argon said and Fingon’s fingers tightened against his pulse.

“No,” Aredhel hissed. “We are not going to die here. We are going to get out of this trap and I swear to god when I see that bastard Fëanor again I am going to rip his throat out—” She cut off abruptly, feeling Fingon’s shoulders tense against her chest and she forced out a long breath. Of Fingolfin’s four children, only she and Fingon had ever bothered to try and befriend their cousins on Fëanor’s side. “We are going to get out,” she said instead. “No trap was invented that can hold me.”

“Finrod,” Fingon said and cleared his throat. “He thinks he has an idea, if he can get us airborne.”

“If,” Turgon said bleakly.

“We’ll get out,” Fingon said, and he looked at where he thought Argon was in the darkness, even though they could see nothing. He spoke to both his younger brothers then. “We will get out.”

A while later, when Turgon had fallen into exhausted and pained sleep, and Fingon felt Aredhel’s sleeping breathes against his back, he felt Argon shift.

“Would she really tear out Fëanor’s throat?” Argon asked, so quietly Fingon almost did not hear.

“I do not know,” he admitted, and the thought had plagued him when he allowed it. What would happen if they got off the planet and met Fëanor again. How the war had been going.

Why Maedhros had left him and never come back.

“Will he try and kill us again?” Argon asked and Fingon squeezed his wrist.

“No,” he said, unsure of the answer himself.

The next morning he met Finrod in the tiny area where they recycled what little rations they had on the ships when they crashed, almost down to nothing. “This jump,” he said, eyes glinting and Finrod looked up at him with blank eyes. He had been crying in the night too. “Can I help?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finrod's ideas about the human mind probably coalesce into the mentat order at some point.


	3. Chapter 3

“Are we ready for this?” Fingon asked, hands tight on the controls in front of him.

“I do not know about you, but I am ready to be gone,” Galadriel said, standing behind him with her hands folded, Finrod sitting beside him.

“I think,” Finrod said and took a deep breath, hands flat on the controls for a moment. “Alright, everyone, hold on or strap in to the seats we have. I am going to start the ship.”

“Please, just do what you have to and save us the suspense,” Fingolfin said.

Finrod and Fingon stared at each other. “Are you ready?” Finrod whispered.

“Just see if the engine starts first and then we’ll worry about the next step, alright?” Fingon whispered back.

Finrod gave him a shaky smile and edged the controls up, the engine deep in the ship, beneath where the navigator usually sat slowly roared to life. “Alright,” Finrod said, grinning wildly over at Fingon, a quiet whoop going up behind them.

“Now we just have to get a ship not designed to enter gravity out of orbit,” Fingon said, cheerfully and Finrod looked caught between euphoria and leaning over to smack Fingon.

“One thing at a time?” he offered as Fingon carefully pulled the controls back, lifting the nose of the ship. Below them ice and snow scattered, Turgon looking out the viewport as if he would be able to see something more from above then he had been below.

Everyone seemed not to breath as Fingon and Finrod pulled the ship higher and higher into the sky. “Hey, Aredhel,” Fingon called over the creaky intercom. “Everything holding up down there?”

“Yes?” she called back. “It’s shaking a lot though.”

“That’s because it’s held together with hair ribbons,” Finrod said and Fingon did not look away from the viewport enough to roll his eyes.

“Yes, that is the most important thing holding it together,” he muttered, as the viewport suddenly cleared, the cobbled together ship breaking out of the atmosphere and into space. There was a moment of stunned silence followed by a quiet roar.

“No one get too excited yet,” Fingon said, still leaning over the controls, Fingolfin rising to rest his hands on the back of his chair. “We’re still in orbit.”

Finrod nodded, having been punching commands in. “When you’re ready.”

Taking another long breath, constantly aware one wrong move could send the whole ship falling back down to the planet below, Fingon eased it away from the gravity pull of the planet, hands going white when the ship shook around them before pulling free.

“Remember what I said about haunting?” he asked, voice tight as Finrod finished crafting the jump coordinates.

“Yes,” he said and Fingolfin leaned over Fingon’s chair. “Are you certain about where you are planning of putting us?”

“I think it’s the best hope of finding other humans,” Finrod said, biting his lip and Fingon was still barely daring to breath beside him.

“Then go,” Fingolfin said.

“I suggest everyone hold on,” Finrod said and he took Fingon’s hand as the ship lurched and rattled around them as space bent and spat them back out galaxies away from where they had been.

“The engine is on fire,” Aredhel yelled over the intercom as Fingon started swearing, swerving the ship away from the larger, mechanical ship they had come out of space almost directly on top of.

“Well that’s an unforeseen circumstance of jumping,” Finrod said, the metal of the ship screeching around them as Fingon desperately tried to keep them from colliding. “Also, good to know there’s a human base still here.”

“Which is being attacked by machines!” Fingon yelled, loudly enough for everyone to hear as the communications panel sizzled, sending off a spark before a creaky voice could be heard through it.

“New ship, identity yourself or will you be fired on. New ship, identity yourself…”

“Ah, Curufin, nice to hear your voice again,” Finrod said, closest to the panel that was still sparking and there was a heavy pregnant pause on the other end. “Good to know you’re alive.”

“ _Finrod_?”

“Still alive,” Finrod said quietly. “At least I think we’re still alive.”

Yelling leaked out of the panel before another voice came on. “Can you get across?” Maglor asked.

“You mean toward your ships and not the machines?” Fingon answered. “Sure. I can totally do that in this rust bucket whose engine is on fire.”

“We will meet you halfway,” Maglor said, already yelling over his shoulder at people to move and someone to contact the other ships. “You’ll have to see if you can dock with us and move on to this ship. I’m not sure if we could do anything for what you’re on now.”

“Dock two ships together in the middle of a battle,” Fingon said and shook his head, his father’s hands white on the seat behind him, the ship already rocking dangerously around them. “Speaking of which, it’s your ship.”

“You’ll just have to trust us,” Maglor said.

“Get us out there, Fingon,” Fingolfin said, cutting off any other protest his son might have made and Fingon slammed the controls down, rocking the ship forward and into the middle of the fire fight. The rest of the human fleet was already turning, clearly trying to cover them as the machine fleet tried to recalibrate their weapons to aim underneath them instead of at the other fleet.

“Everyone, prepare to evacuate,” Fingolfin said, voice calm as he pressed down the intercom. “Aredhel, Galadriel, Argon. See if you can make the docking bay work.”

“You sure this is a good idea?” Aredhel asked, and it was clear from her voice getting quieter that she was already moving.

“Do we have any of those left?” Finrod asked, already jumping up and moving to help, Fingon’s fingers bloodless on the controls of the ship.

“Just so everyone knows,” he said. “We’re probably going to crash into Maglor’s ship first.”

“As long as we crash together with our bays mostly facing the same way,” Finrod said as the whole ship lurched again, sending everyone to the ground who was not still sitting.

“Crashed, bays together,” Fingon said, flying out of his seat once he locked the controls. “If we survive the next twenty minutes, remind me to buy you a drink for being mostly right about the jump.”

“Think we have more than twenty minutes to go,” Finrod said as they bolted down the hallway, hearing the sound of screams coming from down below. “Oh no.”

They both tried to force their exhausted legs to run faster, having not had decent food in months or the chance to run. As they reached the bay, Fingolfin and Turgon almost on their heels, a machine reared up from down the hallway.

“How did they already get on board?” Fingolfin gasped, catching himself on the wall as Fingon backpedaled, the machine turning toward them. The bay door was already smashed open, most of the ship already streaming across the portal into the bay of Maglor’s ship. Both ships had once held bays to hold smaller ships and fighters, but they had discarded that part of the ship in their attempt to minimize it enough to break orbit. All smaller ships had long since been cannibalized into the larger ship anyway.

Now the refugees ran across Maglor’s ship bay, scrambling up to the airlock as troops came running out of Maglor’s ship toward the wreck of the other ship.

“Machines!” Fingon yelled, Aredhel having reached the airlock on the other side and helping the others through as best she could. “Machines have already gotten aboard!”

“Get everyone off,” Celegorm said, arriving beside Fingon and holding something that looked like a modified rocket launcher. “We’ll eject the ship and make a run back to our own lines, and hopefully most of the machines that got aboard with it.”

Fingon nodded, already taking a step away when he heard a scream. Whipping his head around, he started to run before his mind caught up with what he was seeing, and only Celegorm’s sudden arm across his chest kept him from bolting at the machine.

“Argon!” he screamed, and Turgon stopped from where he had started to leave, their youngest brother caught in a machine’s arms, the metal fingers having punched through his chest.

“We’re going,” Celegorm said, already dragging him away, another machine appearing from the opposite hallway and Celegorm tried to juggle his gun and Fingon, who was still pulling desperately away.

Turgon caught Fingon and Celegorm managed to get the gun up in time to start shooting the machine advancing toward them, covering their retreat as Turgon dragged Fingon across the docking bay, Finrod already at the door.

“But Argon!” Fingon yelled.

“He was already dead,” Turgon said, and his voice was shaking. “Didn’t you see? He was already dead.”

Maglor’s ship was shaking under the barrage from the machine fleet when Turgon and Fingon finally ran into the airlock, Celegorm slamming the door shut. “Maglor, we can go,” he yelled and the ship lurched, disengaging from the wreck that had taken them halfway across the universe and back into other human company. Fingon was shaking against the wall and Celegorm finally got a straight look at them. He opened his mouth and shut it again, deciding not to say they looked awful.

Before he could turn around, Aredhel approached him from the side and slammed her fist into the side of his face, making him stagger back. Before he could say anything, Fingolfin stepped between them. “I would like to talk to your father, please,” he said, voice ice and Finrod grabbed Fingon around the middle, supporting him.

“I’ll take you to the bridge,” Celegorm said instead, straightening his shoulders and rubbing his cheek.

The refugees, remnants of the two ships that had crashed a year ago stared at him before they fell into a line behind him, winding their way through the large ship, most of them barely noticing as it shook around them, though the bright lights and the sound of other human voices almost became overpowering.

Finally the door to the bridge swished open, Maglor standing at the center of it all, barking out commands, Curufin flitting between stations, though he stopped and looked back when the door opened, freezing for too long of a moment.

“Where is your father?” Fingolfin said, stalking up to Maglor who turned slowly toward him, Celegorm taking up command of the military operation.

Maglor was shaking slightly, through he squared his shoulders back and faced his uncle with his chin held back. “Fëanor has been dead for nine months,” he said and Fingolfin stared. “He fell in battle.”

“And Maedhros?” Fingon blurted, because he was nowhere on the bridge. The flash of red hair had been the twins.

Maglor’s eyes flickered over and the ship shuddered again. “Captive, for the last eight months,” he said and Finrod was still supporting Fingon, and felt him sag.

“Please, let us get through this battle,” Maglor said. “And we can talk then. There is food, sleeping quarters that are empty.”

“Can we help?” Fingolfin asked and Maglor’s eyes widened slightly, flickering over the group. “If you can bear to,” he said, instead of sending them all away.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argon is Fingon, Turgon and Aredhel's youngest brother who doesn't appear in the Silmarillion but he does in Tolkien's other writings and he dies at the battle they get themselves into when they cross the ice. 
> 
> I just thought it was devastatingly cruel to escape a place like that and lose so many and walk straight into a battle where you only lose more people.


End file.
